


the obligatory carnival episode

by mayor_crumblepot



Series: nygmobblepot tumblr fills [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, county fair, everybody goes to the fair and its lit and they have a great time and nobody is unhappy, i don't have an explanation or an excuse thats just how it be, its a teen rogues au so they're still villains but they're kids, jonathan fear gasses the carnival, villain kids having fun feat. resigned bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 08:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14733576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayor_crumblepot/pseuds/mayor_crumblepot
Summary: oswald, ed, bruce, and jerome go to the carnival, as teenagers do, and have a great time. that is, until jon shows up, and after a narrow escape, everything turns out fine.





	the obligatory carnival episode

**Author's Note:**

> this is set in an au which i lovingly call "teen rogues au," and if you want to know more about it, you can find it among my other aus [ here ](https://mayor-crumblepot.tumblr.com/verses)

“I wanna go to the fair,” Jerome says, shoveling cafeteria food into his mouth with a surprising accuracy, despite his speed. 

“We _have_  to go,” despite headphones in his ears, Ed is pointing emphatically at Jerome with his pen, “but, sooner rather than later. I think Jon has _plans.”_ At the end of the table, Jon waves politely, going so far as to smile. Ed really wishes he wouldn’t do that, not with the mask on; it always looks vile. 

When Oswald doesn’t show any objections, Bruce feels as though he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. (And really, he doesn’t.) He supposes there are worse ways he could be spending a Saturday, and whatever makes Jerome happy, makes him happy. 

Bruce doubts, though, that there are _that_  many worse ways to spend a Saturday. When they first arrive at the fair, there’s a line of people at the ticket box and the sky threatens rain. By the time they make it _into_  the fair, the rain has come and gone, the four of them having hid underneath an awning with sixty other semi-soggy people. (Eventually, Jerome had given in and stood out in the rain, playing in puddles with children, only to come back under the awning and shake his hair out. ) 

As they come upon a game tent, whiffle balls being thrown into various colored holes on a board, Jerome is determined to win on his first try. It proves much more difficult than it looks, and although Ed and Bruce start to try and help, Oswald stays out of it. Throwing things has never been quite his speed; he intends to ride the ferris wheel, see a pig race, and eat his weight in deep fried god knows what. That’s all.

“It’s fucking rigged,” Ed says angrily, and when Oswald sees Jerome reaching for _something_  in his pocket, right out of Bruce’s sight, he figures it’s time to step up. 

“Of course it is,” Oswald reaches out and wiggles his fingers, “give me your ball, Eddie.” Bruce wants to say something, wants to try and convince Oswald that it isn’t that important, and that he can just as easily pay off the kid working the stand. “You need to spin it,” twisting his hand, Oswad points at a red, large prize hole, “the holes are different sizes. It needs to ride the edge.” He throws the ball, twisting it and letting it spin, and sure enough, the ball settles into a red hole. 

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Bruce asks, watching as Oswald points to a stuffed cat dressed up as a graduate, handing it off to Ed. 

“I didn’t think it would be fair,” he shrugs, putting his hands back into his pockets, “you know, like why we don’t let Ed play cards with us.” Ed is too enamored with the stuffed animal to defend himself.

“So you know the tricks of _most_  of these?” Jerome asks, practically vibrating with excitement when Oswald nods, “Can you win me that ugly banana, over there?” Jerome points at a game of balloon darts, and Oswald knows he isn’t strong enough to throw the darts properly, but he’s sure he could get Bruce to do it. 

* * *

“Do _not_  shake this gondola, Jerome,” despite the ferris wheel being his idea, Oswald seems the most on edge. 

“You do understand that my entire brand is breaking the rules, right?” 

“You don’t have a brand,” Ed puts his arm over Oswald’s shoulders, watching gratefully as Bruce snakes an arm around Jerome’s waist, keeping him still. 

“He’s right, Jay,” the arm Bruce has around Jerome tightens, “you can’t advocate anarchy _and_  have a set brand. It’s counterintuitive.” 

“Exactly.”

“Ed!” Jerome seems scandalized, or as much as he can with a gigantic stuffed banana in his lap, “You’re supposed to be my friend, you can’t side with him!” 

“I’m sorry,” he pushes his glasses up, pointedly not looking out of the gondola windows, “Bruce, I rescind my agreement. Jerome, you can totally have a brand.” 

“Much better.” Although subdued, Jerome finds himself quickly wriggling out of Bruce’s grasp when he’s certain he sees someone vomiting in the parking lot. He moves to the edge, phone in hand as he tries his best to zoom in on the sight, to get a good look at whatever the fuck is going on. The entire gondola lurches with his steps, leaving Oswald shell shocked long after they make it off of the ferris wheel. 

The only thing that seems to brighten him up again is food, an entire feast of the carnival’s most absurd and most delicious sounding treats purchased at Bruce’s expense. Over a table of food that is littered with bacon and sausage, Ed and Bruce share a hollow expression, shoving plate after plate down to their boyfriends. At least it won’t go to waste. 

Out of everything, Ed finds himself most taken by the concept of deep-fried pie; there’s a mixture of textures that he was _certain_  he wouldn’t like, and yet, he’s nearly finished a whole slice of key lime. Bruce is much less enthused, fragile palate still unable to stomach so much of a good thing, but he realizes he likes Oreo cookies much more when they’ve been battered, twice fried, and covered in powdered sugar. They make the inside of his throat feel like it’s coated in tar, simultaneously making him salivate and making his mouth feel inexplicably dry, but he keeps going back for more. 

“That’s the magic of fair food,” Jerome tells him, proudly tearing into a suspiciously large turkey leg, “you can’t get enough.” 

“They purposefully make things just short of satisfying,” as he works through a gigantic slice of thin-crust pizza, Oswald finds himself with hands too full to gesture with, “so you’ll go back for more, and hopefully buy something else, too.” 

“It’s a sick ploy, but I’ll fall for it every time,” the turkey leg has been devoured in record time, left on top of their mountain of trash. “Brucie, we should get Dippin’ Dots.” 

“Astronaut ice cream!” Ed says, looking excitedly at Jerome. 

“ _Astronaut ice cream!_ ” And it’s decided. 

* * *

“This is probably a shit show compared to some of the stuff you’ve been to,” Oswald says to Bruce, standing a few feet away from a tent where Ed and Jerome are slowly annoying a man to death, “isn’t it?”

“I suppose, but it’s apples and oranges.” 

“And how’s that?” 

“Personally, I think the three of you,” Bruce gestures to Oswald, then back over to where Jerome and Ed are chattering animatedly, “could make an empty field entertaining. I may go many places, but I don’t usually have fun.” 

“That’s a very rich person thing to say,” Oswald’s hands are itching for a cigarette, for something to do. 

“I know,” he puts his hands into his pockets, vigilant for a moment as he tries to decipher the shimmering object in Jerome’s hand— it’s a game piece, he decides, “but I have fun with you guys.”

“It’s hard not to, isn’t it?” The game piece in Jerome’s hand goes flying, high velocity that turns it into a weapon that tears through the back of the man’s tent; he’s too caught up in whatever Ed is saying to notice, “Never a dull moment.” 

“Never.” 

* * *

As if the incident with the man at the milk bottle tower tent wasn’t enough, Ed feels required to stop at the psychic’s tent. Something about the whole spectacle; the scarf wrapped around the woman’s head, the crystal ball, the fake snake in a basket at the tableside, it all rubs Oswald the wrong way. 

They listen as Ed talks circles around the woman, answers her winding phrases with riddles of his own, gives conflicting responses to her various readings on him. Eventually, he sets her off, a surprisingly quick move with words that nobody is paying close enough attention to catch— she’s swinging a newspaper at them as they run out of her tent, laughing loudly. 

The sun has set, daylight giving way to overhead lamps and the bright moon, temperatures having sunk to traditional Gotham City lows, frigid when the wind comes through. Somewhere in the crowd, Oswald is sure that he sees a flash of burlap, and as much as he loves watching Jon work, he isn’t particularly interested in getting trapped in the pandemonium that follows his arrival _anywhere_. 

“We need to leave,” he says, pushing at his friends’ backs, “right now. Right now, right now.” 

“What, why—”

“Oh, it’s Jon!” Jerome bounces on his toes, catching sight of their friend, “Jonathan!” And as if on cue, screams erupt from a crowd of people as The Scarecrow whips around, standing up straight. It’s always hard to tell, with him, what kind of mood he’s going to be in. “ _Oh,_  my bad.”

“That’s why we’re leaving.” Nobody needs to be told twice, Bruce heading the way as they push through frantic people, not stopping until they get into Ed’s truck. The fair is shrouded in a green cloud, when they finally look back, sitting inside the safety of the cabin. “He could have texted us,” Oswald whines, dropping his head against the passenger seat headrest, “common courtesy.” 

“You think he’ll need a ride out?” Ed watches police cars swarm the entrance, officers running in blindly. Idly, he wonders how many steps they’ll take before they get hit by the gas, before they fall to the ground and plead for their lives. 

“You can’t possibly—” When he sees Jon running out of the fair, spraying police officers and throwing pathetic punches as he goes, Bruce already knows that his night has gotten that much longer. Ed shifts the car into gear, stopping himself right in front of Jon and letting him jump into the truck bed. 

“Seatbelts?” Right before peeling out, Ed looks back to ensure that everyone has strapped themselves in, and that Jon is sitting down in the bed of the truck. If Ed is anything, it’s a good driver— then again, he’s the only one of the group who can drive, just yet. Still, he makes the best of it, hopping onto highways and pushing sixty, windows open so that he can listen for the sound of sirens. 

Oswald reaches out, turning the radio on and up loud enough to be heard over the air in the cabin. It’s something poppy, something that none of them know very well, except for Jerome.

When Bruce looks around the cabin, he realizes that he’s as close to peace as he has ever been. Ed is tapping against the steering wheel, long fingers following a tune as if it were effortless, driving as if it were second nature— he’s a genius, he doesn’t have to think. Next to Ed, Oswald is turned around in his seat to mimic Jerome’s dancing, to cheer him on as he goes through the lyrics as if they’re the simplest thing. Excitedly, Oswald points at Jon in the back window, the boy having shed his gloves so that he can put his hands against the glass and join in the fun— there’s something so absurd, to look out a window and see a scarecrow mouthing the words to the song on the radio. 

Bruce would say this is one of the better days; one of the _best_  days, in fact. 

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on tumblr! i'm [ mayor-crumblepot ](https://mayor-crumblepot.tumblr.com)


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